


Four Letters Is Never The Question

by TheItsyBitsyWriter



Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Canon, Blowjobs, Bottom Steve Rogers, Brooklyn, Brooklyn boys in love, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers Feels, Conflicted Emotions, Emotional, Explicit Language, Flirtatious Peggy Carter, Implied Sexual Content, Jealous, Jealous Bucky Barnes, Kissing, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Canon, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Sexy, Steve Rogers Feels, Tags Are Hard, Top Bucky Barnes, Whip & Fiddle, because i can't write porn, bucky loves steve, but not really, handjob, i love brooklyn and stevebucky, kinda drunk, post that scene, steve loves bucky, stevebucky in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-02-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:07:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22786903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheItsyBitsyWriter/pseuds/TheItsyBitsyWriter
Summary: Bucky Barnes has always been a very rational person. He doesn't get irrationally angry, and he doesn't get jealous. He recognizes jealousy as an ugly emotion. But fuck him if he can suppress how horrible he feels when Agent Carter flirts with Steve, and fuck him if he's not drunk off some horrid emotion bubbling under the fragile surface of his cool persona, and especially fuck him if he doesn't fuck a very oblivious Steve into next week, just to remind of who he's always belonged to.ORBucky gets jealous and emotional after Peggy flirts with Steve at the Whip & Fiddle, and needs to remind and be reminded that Steve and Bucky belong to each other.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 14
Kudos: 223





	Four Letters Is Never The Question

**Author's Note:**

> so, I was watching a SteveBucky scenes compilation, because my life is meaningless and I miss my bisexual Captain and his totally gay boyfriend, and I came across that scene in CATFA when Peggy flirts with Steve, and the look on Sebastian's face was so ridiculous, that it gives off a very "jealous Bucky" vibe.  
> I decided to pursue the feral instinct that writers get, and well here is the product.  
> As always, Kudos and Comments are much needed and much appreciated :)  
> Enjoy x  
> (p.s. the title is a lyric from Zayn Malik's "Wrong" my boy has game, and that song is sexy as fuck)

Inside the dimly-lit pub, Bucky's eyes had trouble focusing on one thing in particular— or maybe he faced trouble because of the one-too-many drinks he'd had— but maybe it wasn't that either, because he didn't even feel slightly tipsy, let alone fully drunk. The wooden stool under Bucky groaned in an aged fashion as he swiveled around to look for the head full of blonde hair, which was one of the only few things remaining about the old Steve Rogers; the Steve Rogers that Bucky knew, inside and out. The new Steve was unfamiliar, yet there was something about him that made Bucky feel like he was home.

Across the pub, he found Steve sitting with the rest of the Howling Commandos, smiling politely at something Morita was telling him. Bucky watched him intently, blinked a few times to focus his gaze, but came up short, so he turned to the barkeep, "Can I get a glass of water with some salt and a bit o' lemon in it?" he asked, braced for the raised quizzical brow, which he did receive. Then he added as an afterthought. "Please?"

The thin man behind the bar just shrugged a shoulder up in response and turned towards the glasses lining the back wall. He returned shortly, with a glass of lukewarm water and two slices of lemon, which he squeezed into the water right in front of Bucky's bleary vision.

"Thank you, good sir." Bucky cracked a smile at the barkeep, and raised his glass in a toast, before downing the disturbingly tart and salty mixture; it was his Pa's go-to recipe for a clear head, it worked flawlessly even during his more worse alcoholic stupors. He gritted his teeth against the sourness of the lemon, then cleared his throat, "Can I get a simple glass of water now, please?"

The barkeep looked about ready to walk away, but he nodded, and poured Bucky a glass of water anyway. Bucky raised it at the barkeep once again, nodded grimly and began sipping his room-temperature water. The barkeep looked him up and down with a confused expression before he returned to his work as three hammered soldiers approached the bar and shouted their orders at him. Bucky tended to his glass of water until he'd finished it all, then rubbed his tired eyes. He counted to ten, and opened his eyes, his vision absolutely clear now. Smiling, he cleared his throat, and turned around once again to find Steve's smiling face in the crowd.

He expected to find Steve still politely smiling at Morita, but instead, Bucky found everyone singing a song that he's too tired to place in his memory, with the exception of Steve. Bucky wondered where the man had disappeared off to, when the stool next to his scraped on the floor, and someone dropped in daintily.

Bucky turned to his left and found Steve's smiling face— except this time, it was not a polite smile. He was fully beaming at Bucky, and Bucky thought that he might have been a little bit drunk. The singing grew louder and Bucky smiled fondly at his comrades, then said to Steve, "See? I told you. They’re all idiots."

Steve smiled a little bit wider and nodded. He was about to say something when the barkeeper brought forward another round of whatever the Commandos were drinking. Bucky helped himself to a glass of amber liquid, and found it to be whisky on the rocks. When he turned back to face Steve, his best friend looked a bit pensive. "How about you? You ready to follow Captain America into the jaws of death?"

Bucky worked his jaw a little then smirked, "Hell, no. That little guy from Brooklyn who was too dumb not to run away from a fight. I’m following him." he turned to face Steve, and felt something ache in the center of his being. He knew it was the burning love he felts for the man next to him. So Bucky smiled, a little wider, a little more devilishly and leaned in closer, "But you’re keeping the outfit, right?"

Steve smirked, and his cheeks colored just a little, "You know what? It’s kind of growing on me." he turned his head back to look at Bucky, with a too-soft expression; a moment passed between them, and it was something so concealed that Bucky thought if he wasn't present for it, he'd have missed it whole. But there was a sudden tenderness to their aura now; Steve's eyes were softer, his smile a bit more dazed, and his heart a little too full.

And Bucky thought that there is nothing in this world that is more beautiful than Steven Grant Rogers. But then again, he's always thought the same. Even when Steve was thin and sickly, and nearly dying from a simple cough— Bucky thought he was one of God's finest works. And he knew deep in the center of his chest, that Steve Rogers is the love of his life, and his opinion on Steve's beauty is absolutely biased, because really, who is Bucky, if not someone stupidly in love with Steve?

"Captain." a voice said somewhere to his left and the too-tender moment between them shattered, much like the fragile dream of a life Bucky that had been building for himself and Steve for decades in his mind, as Steve looked away.

Bucky turned, and found Peggy Carter standing behind them, in a fitted red dress, a dark smear of red on her mouth, and a little confident smirk completing the look. She looked absolutely stunning, but as Bucky turned back to Steve, he found himself thinking that the most beautiful person in the room, was still Steve Rogers, who stood quickly, "Agent Carter. "

Though Bucky remained sitting, he did nod politely at her, "Ma’am." and only then did he notice that the Howling Commandos' singing had ceased.

Peggy nodded at Bucky, and turned to Steve again, "Howard has some equipment for you to try. Tomorrow morning?"

Steve nodded his affirmation, "Sounds good. " his hands clenched and unclenched by his side and Bucky raised an eyebrow. He knew what that little action meant, just like he knew what every little one of Steve's actions mean— this one indicated that he was nervous.

Peggy nodded again. She turned her head to find the Commandos, and Bucky was once again late to notice that they'd resumed their singing. She smiled once she was looking at Steve again, and said, "I see your top squad is prepping for duty."

"You don't like music?" the words slipped past Bucky's lips before he could stop them, and they sounded so incredulous that Bucky thought he might cringe himself to death. But Steve's mouth quirked up a little, and for that, Bucky knew he'll say a hundred more incredulous things that night.

"I do, actually." Peggy replied, raising both her eyebrows, her sharp mind never missing Bucky's tone, "I might even, when this is all over, go dancing. "

To save himself further embarrassment, Bucky smiled a little at her and tipped his head back, "Then what are we waiting for? "

"The right partner." Peggy told him, and then glanced at Steve, and Bucky didn't fail to notice the look in her eye; because it was the same one that he'd been carrying in his eyes up until a few years back. Peggy recovered quickly, "0800, Captain."

Steve nodded, peacefully oblivious to the change in both Bucky's and Peggy's personas, "Yes, ma’m. I’ll be there. "

Peggy nodded and stepped back, "Gentlemen." she said to both Steve and Bucky and without even waiting for a response, turned around and walked away from them, disappearing behind a group of drunk men. But the _click-clack_ of her heels echoed in Bucky's mind like church bells.

Bucky intently watched the spot where Peggy stood a minute before, then shook his head a little, "I'm invisible. I'm turning into you. It’s like some horrible dream. "

Steve smiled widely, then lowered his eyebrows in a faux sympathetic expression, "Don't take it so hard, maybe she's got a friend."

"Punk." Bucky told him, cracking a wide smile.

"Jerk." Steve replied automatically, as if it was an instinct, and Bucky distinctly thought that it might be. They sat on the stool around the counter of the bar for a few more minutes until Steve clapped his shoulder in a good-natured and an all-too friendly, platonic way and moved off with the serving platter of whisky, toward the Howling Commandos, who by then had switched to some slow, melodramatic song.

They called for Bucky to join in, but he just waved a dismissive hand toward them, and continued tending to his semi-diluted whisky. He seethed where he sat, but it was not because of the Commandos and their horrible singing, and it was not even because he feels a terrible headache coming. It was all really because of Steve and how everything was falling apart around Bucky's ears and he could do nothing about it, because it had all been happening so subtly, that he felt that trying to stop it would just end in a bigger disaster.

Ever since that fateful night, when Steve rescued his ass from the Germans, everything had felt different. Steve had felt different. But of course he was different; he was bigger now, he was healthy, he was strong. He was everything that the Steve that Bucky had known his entire life, was not. But really, Steve was still the same; he was still his stubborn, adamant, caring, so good, and beautiful self, and Bucky was also still the same, and even though he too felt different; he was still in love with Steve.

But he was beginning to doubt if Steve was in love with him still. Before all of this mess, it had been just the two of them, happy in their own broken little world. Before all of this, Bucky had known Steve, inside and out, and he known that he was the one who could make Steve's heart skip a beat and his blood rush. He was the one who could glance at Steve and lick his lip, and Steve's dick would harden. He was the one who could easily make Steve come untouched, just by whispering dirty nothings into his ear. He was the one who could smile at Steve and whisper a confession of his love, and Steve would walk around, grinning like a lovesick puppy for the rest of the day. He was the one who Steve waited for every evening at their home. He was the one who Steve was always pulling down for searing hot kisses whenever they were alone. He was the one who Steve moaned for, arched off the bed for, turned into a writhing mess for. He was the one who could make Steve come just by his words.

But now, it felt like Steve was close, but too far away. He was always near him, but somehow, Bucky felt him to be miles away, in a place where Bucky was not welcomed. And it killed him inside a little just thinking about it, because Bucky didn't know his life without Steve in it. He didn't know who he was if he wasn't the object of Steve's affection, and it was absolutely ridiculous to Bucky.

And yet, at the same time, it was also the worst thing that could have happened to Bucky— and he admitted that to himself after taking into consideration the week he'd spent on the table in front of Zola. Steve meant everything to him. And Bucky used to believe that he meant everything to Steve too, but lately it was as if becoming Captain America had made Steve's options very clear. And Bucky was so thankful for that; that Steve now knew how beautiful he was, that finally there were women who paid attention to Steve and fawned over him. He was happy for Steve, because that's all he knew how to do with Steve. But now, thinking back to it, Bucky felt like a villain; he'd been the one who had kissed Steve first, on a rainy summer's night when they were fifteen, and he was the one shoved his tongue down Steve's throat, and he was the one who had later fucked Steve into oblivion. Thinking back to it all, Bucky wondered if he somehow had forced Steve to turn queer?

"Sarge— hey, Sarge!" a hand clapped tightly on his shoulder, where Steve's had been not too long ago, and it jolted him out of his reverie.

Bucky blinked to clear his head, then turned to find Falsworth next to him, motioning at the barkeep for a drink. "Why the long face, Sarge?"

Bucky raised both his hands up to his face rubbed at it, then stretched his arms above his head. "Just tired." there was no way in Hell or Heaven that he'd ever tell another soul about what was truly bothering him.

Falsworth nodded in an understanding fashion, "Ah, of course, of course! Why don't you call it a night then, Sarge?"

There was a sudden spike in noise; Dum Dum's booming laugh was loud above all the ruckus, as he shook his head at something Steve was saying, and Steve himself looked a little please with himself, wearing a bright smile and eyes hooded in the way they always got when he'd gotten a good few drinks in him. Bucky turned back to Falsworth and nodded grimly, "Yeah, think you might be right. It's time to call it quits."

Falsworth nodded again, still trying to capture the attention of the too-busy barkeep. Bucky emptied his glass of whisky and stood from his stool, he heard Falsworth mutter, "They ought to hire another bloody barkeep 'round 'ere." as he began to walk away.

Steve caught sight of Bucky sauntering away from the bar, and raised his eyebrow quizzically, his smile falling away. In response, Bucky lifted a shoulder in a shrug, and even for the benefit of Steve, he couldn't manage a smile. He couldn't get the sight of Peggy Carter out of his mind. He wasn't hung up on her. He was hung up on how clear an affect she had on Steve, and it pissed Bucky off to his very core.

As he passed by the table that the Commandos had taken over, Steve's hand darted out and latched on to his wrist. "Where ya goin', Buck?" he asked, and when Bucky looked at him, he did his best to not cry.

"Yeah, Sarge, where you runnin' off to at this hour?" said Dugan, "come now, the night's still young, and Falsworth's gone to get us more rounds. Tab's open in the Captain's name, we ought to be here all night."

"I don't doubt for a second that you're gonna be here all night, Dugan, but some of us are aware that we got to report to duty early tomorrow morning," Bucky replied in his signature smart-ass tone, that Dugan took that in stride, laughing merrily. "'Sides, I feel like my head's gonna explode all over this place if I stay here any longer. I'll be getting me some sleep, while all of you will be getting yourselves a headache for tomorrow. Good night, fellas."

There was a chorus of 'good nights' from the squad, but Steve only remained looking quizzically confused. One look at him and Bucky knew he was going to ask him to stay, and if Steve asked, Bucky would've stayed all night. But that thought didn't seem very appealing to Bucky, so he gently twisted his wrist out of Steve's too-strong grip, gave his shoulder a reassuring—he hoped that it was—squeeze and made a hasty exit out of the pub.

He emerged on to the quiet London street, and was immediately hit with the balmy night air. The city lights had been extinguished, and only a handful of people remained on the street. As he began his short trek toward the apartment complex a block down the street, that the American Soldiers and Howard Stark's men had occupied, he breathed in deeply. The air smelled stale, like old wood and something distinct; like gunpowder, but somehow deadlier. Bucky grimaced. London was nothing like Brooklyn.

In his town, there was always some kind of ruckus being created by the inhabitant souls of Brooklyn. It was always a little noisy there, the sounds of life flitting through every crevice and dark corner, filling your eardrums, providing you with an overwhelming awareness of life around you. In Bucky's opinion, his Brooklyn was the best part of New York; it was beautiful, and accepting, and kind, and it was the place his and Steve's love was born. Brooklyn was all Bucky had ever known, and he longed so badly to be back home.

Back to where he felt most alive; where men passing you in the street would tip their hat at you, where women would smile and nod politely, where the kids were respectful to an extent, where you could go out at any hour of the night and you'd find at least a dozen people milling around in the streets doing God knows what, where a queer couple in the street would only be looked upon distastefully and not spat at or arrested or worse. He was proud of Brooklyn, and he missed it oh-so much.

But even more than he missed Brooklyn, he missed his family. He missed his Ma, and how she smelled; always of lilies and cinnamon, he missed his Pa and the wise words he always had, he even missed Rebecca and her annoying shenanigans. He missed Sarah Rogers too, the saint of a woman who was the first person who'd found out he was queer and had only smiled kindly at him and said: "I hope you realize this changes nothing for me; you're still my dear boy, James, and you're still coming here after school, every day, you're still staying over as much as you do, and you're still sleeping in the same bed as my son. I still love you just as I will always love Steven."

Bucky missed his home too; the tiny one-bedroom apartment he shared with Steve. Where each morning, he awoke Steve with kisses peppered across his face, neck, and chest. Where each evening, after work, he came home to Steve waiting for him with a big, wet kiss and a different variation of oatmeal— and on their better, luckier days, bread and some kind of meat. Where he made love to Steve every night, and felt blessed beyond touch.

And as Bucky approached the door of the apartment complex, Bucky thought that he couldn't wait to be back in his Ma's embrace and his Pa's presence. He couldn't wait to kiss Rebecca's cheek, and _finally_ take her out dancing with him— she'd been asking for ages, but Bucky was too protective as an older brother to let her go. He couldn't wait to sit besides Sarah Rogers's grave and tell her all the things that had happened in his life since he'd last been there— which was the day before he got shipped out. He couldn't wait to see his other friends, or his extended family in Jersey. He couldn't wait to be home.

Inside the one-bedroom apartment that he'd been allotted, which was somehow even tinier than his and Steve's apartment, he did not dare to turn the light on. Instead he felt around his pocket for a matchbook, and once he found it, he struck a match and briskly walked towards the little window on the far wall, and made sure the planks were in place to block out the light, and only then did he turn on the singular light bulb in the apartment. London was still a crucial part of the War, and could be bombed out any second. And Bucky really didn't want to have survived Zola and his experiments, only to die in a bombing in some unknown apartment complex in London— they wouldn't even find his body.

Bucky sat down on the bed, the mattress of which was just as hard as the floor beneath his feet, and began to slowly unbutton his uniform jacket. Once his jacket was undone, he began pulling at the laces of his shoes and then pulled them off their feet. He stood again, placing his jacket neatly on the back of the rickety old chair in the room, and began taking off the rest of his clothes; his uniform shirt and pants were neatly laid down on the seat of the chair—he didn't have an iron at hand, he couldn't afford any more wrinkles on his clothes, he got enough grief from Steve about appearances enough as it was—and he laid down his undershirt on the small table next to the opposite wall.

Bucky then laid down on the bed in just his undershorts, and let a very loud groan escape his mouth. He was _exhausted_ , but not just physically, he was mentally and emotionally drained at this point. There was a certain weight on his shoulders, and he'd been foolishly carrying it around like he was a martyr. His skin was always cold now, and dread had taken a place in his heart. He didn't have to explore the crevices of his mind to know the cause. Because it was as evident as daylight, and as omnipresent as God himself. The cause of Bucky's heartache, his misery, and the dread spreading roots in his heart was Steven Rogers, the love of his life.

Nothing had felt right ever since he got his draft, even the draft itself hadn't felt right. It had meant that he was going to be forced to leave Steve behind all alone, by himself, with no one to fend for him. The thought had scared Bucky down to his very core, and he'd carried that fear with himself ever since that day, like a weighted blanket. Even during the battles, when gunfire and explosions was all he could hear for days, his mind hadn't left Steve. He had spent every day wondering what kind of shit Steve had been getting himself into. As it turned out, he'd gotten himself into the mother of all shitstorms; he'd willingly let a German, and a crazy American inventor do chemical, biological, and physical experiments on him. Steve Rogers was to trouble what a flame was to a moth. He attracted trouble without ever trying, and that was one of the biggest reasons why Bucky was so scared to go to war.

The other reason, of course, was war itself. Bucky was never a violent person, he didn't enjoy back-alley fights and he didn't enjoy street brawls, but damn him if he hadn't gotten into all kinds of fights and brawls for the skinny blonde who couldn't go a day without pissing off someone thrice his size. In a way, Bucky supposed that the World War was no different. He was fighting for the little guy— and not just Steve, but every other person in his country who wasn't able to defend themselves— he was fighting to protect all of them. But now, he was tired.

He'd done his fair share of fighting throughout his ridiculously bleak and short life, and now he was ready to kick off his boots and relax. He physically ached to be back in Brooklyn, working ridiculous hours down at the docks, then to return to his bed, and have Steve curl into his side, mouth pressing absent minded kisses to his throat as both men drifted off to sleep. 

_Steve_.

Bucky could actually feel a pang in his chest at the thought of having Steve lay on his chest, or curl into his side, or clench around his dick like a vice when he came. He missed Steve so much, and it would have made just a little bit sense if Steve was far away, thousands and thousands of miles away. But no, he was a mere few blocks away from where Bucky lay wide awake, possibly flirting his underpants off with Agent Carter, or the numerous other British women who had been fawning over him ever since he'd stepped foot in this godforsaken country. Steve was here, and yet Bucky knew he was so out of reach, that if he were to extend his hand, he would never catch Steve, his fingers would grow cold and numb and he'll have to draw them back anyway. So he didn't try. He thought he could let Steve go. He thought he could let Steve weight his options, try something or someone new— a loud knock on the door interrupted his thoughts and Bucky froze where he lay. His mind worked rapidly as he wondered if a Nazi could be behind the flimsy wooden door. But he dismissed the thought with a shake of his head. A Nazi soldier wouldn't knock on his door— they'd burn the whole apartment complex to the ground. 

"Buck?" came Steve's voice, and that had Bucky sitting up quickly, and leaving his bed. "I know you're awake."

Bucky yanked the door open, expecting to see a very drunk Steve, but he never got a chance as Steve quickly stepped in to the apartment, and all Bucky felt was his hands digging into the sides of Bucky's face and yanking him closer, before all he felt was Steve's mouth on his own, tongue prodding and prying at his too-still lips. But Bucky was nothing if not quick to get with the program— he pushed the door shut behind Steve, and pushed the taller man's back into it, hands fumbling to click the lock in place.

Steve apparently had no regard for anyone and anything, as he continued kissing Bucky, his tongue probing deep into the brunet's mouth, hands grabbing at the flesh of his shoulders and back— Steve didn't even seem to care that Bucky was having a really hard putting the lock in place.

"Hold— fuck— hold on a second." Bucky said after he'd managed to yank his face away from Steve's, groaning loudly as Steve's hands squeezed the flesh of his ass in a feral fashion.

"Fuckin' kiddin' me, Barnes? I've held back too long already," Steve replied between kissing Bucky's neck, his voice gravelly and laced with arousal. "can't wait any longer."

Bucky let out a loud groan as Steve's hands found his hardening cock and gave it a testing squeeze. "Jesus, fuck— you're killing me, Rogers." there was a _click_ somewhere near Steve's elbow and Bucky let out a triumphant sound as the lock finally latched into place. And that sound morphed into a filthy moan as Steve pushed down his shorts and ran his fingers up the length of Bucky's cock.

Never being one to miss an opportunity, Steve used his other hand to grip the back on Bucky's neck and bring their mouths together once again, tongue licking into Bucky's open mouth. Any sound that Bucky was making was swallowed down by Steve's own mouth, and there was just something so filthy about getting a handjob like this by Steve, who was still dressed in uniform, that Bucky thought he was going to erupt all over Steve's hand.

With that thought in mind, he brought a hand up between their chests and used it to push himself away from Steve, breaking his hold on his dick. "Fuck, wait— you're still dressed— and the bed." his words were mixed together and overlapped with his uneven breathing, but Steve understood as he nodded quickly and nearly ripped his jacket in half, trying to take it off.

Bucky decided to help halfway through as he unbuttoned Steve's shirt, before catching Steve's mouth in a searing hot kiss. which Steve all but melted into. The jacket was followed by the shirt, and the pants, and the undergarments were quick to follow as Steve kicked his boots off, leaving his clothes strewn about the little room, without caring for wrinkles— because Bucky was stark naked in front of him, his hard cock standing proud against his abdomen, and Steve dropped to his knees with a satisfied groan. 

He saw stars when Steve took him into his mouth and began sucking him off— he'd always been _really_ good at it, and when a few minutes later, his stomach coiled and he felt like he was going to erupt down Steve's throat, he tightened his fingers into Steve's hair and yanked him up so hard, he knew it had to hurt. Steve's mouth came off his dick with an obscene wet sound, and he looked so dazed and so sinfully beautiful that it took all of Bucky's willpower not to come right then and there.

"What?" Steve asked, panting, chest heaving up and down, and saliva glinting on his bottom lip and chin. He looked like a work of art, and Bucky leaned forward to kiss him again, softly this time, tasting his own saltiness on Steve's tongue.

"Jesus, you're a fucking bastard." Bucky said once he'd broken the kiss, his hands resting on the side of Steve's neck, thumbs slowly tracing his square, hard jawbone.

"Fuck did I do?"

"Really, Steve? Attacking me like this, sucking me off, after ignoring me for so long." Bucky said, taking his hands away from Steve's face and plopping down on the hard bed. He knew he shouldn't have been having this conversation when he was on the brink of an orgasm, and his cock was hard as a rock.

Steve groaned loudly and sat down on the bed next to Bucky, his own dick—which was now much, much larger than before—hard against his abdomen. "You've got to be fuckin' kiddin' me, Buck, you were the one who looked at me as if I'd grown a second head."

"That's 'cause you look completely different, you fuckin' idiot." Bucky told him, rolling his eyes. Steve chuckles and hangs his head low. A moment of quiet passes between them, before he turns his head and pressed a soft kiss to Bucky's shoulder. "I thought you didn't love me anymore. I thought that Peggy—"

"No. Don't do that, don't think you're in a competition against Peggy, or anyone else, Buck," Steve said, raising his head and his hands to cup Bucky's face, "listen to me, I love you. I've always loved you. It's the only thing I've ever known with you, and it's the only thing I want, _You're_ the only one that I want. Peggy's a friend, but next to you, she means nothing. No one means anything when it comes to you, darlin'. You got to believe me."

Bucky's breathing faltered, and his mouth twitched into a watery smile. He nodded, surging forward and pressing his mouth to Steve's, mirroring his feral passion from before. "I love you— I love you so fuckin' much."

Steve nodded against his mouth, turning and pushing Bucky down on the bed, and crawling on top of him. He grind down on Bucky's cock and the brunet nearly screamed because of how good it felt, "Show me you mean it, Buck."

A growl that was most unlike Bucky, left his throat and he wrapped an arm around Steve's waist, turning them over and grinding down on him like the world depended on it. Steve cursed loudly, throwing his head back and exposing his throat, which Bucky attacked with both his lips and his teeth, kissing, sucking and leaving marks. He didn't care that they'd be visible tomorrow, or that people would be able to see them— he wanted them to. 

"Barnes, goddamn it, fuck me!" Steve spat out when Bucky wouldn't stop kissing his throat and chest. Bucky groaned and Steve used his hair as a grip to make him look up, "Fuck me like you mean it."

That appeared to be all the confirmation Bucky had needed. He started off slow and gentle, as he always did. But then he did fuck Steve so hard that he knew it would be insanely difficult for the Captain to walk straight for the next few days— super-healing abilities or not.

And when it was all said and done, when Steve had been thoroughly fucked twice in one night, and Bucky had gotten sucked off once, they laid wrapped in each other's arms like they always did. With Steve's head on Bucky's shoulder, his mouth pressing absent kisses to Bucky's throat, their legs intertwined, their arms around one another, hands grabbing at soft flesh.

And finally, _finally_ Bucky Barnes felt at home. He was still in wartime London, hundreds of miles away from Brooklyn, but he had Steve Rogers in his arms, and Steve still loved him the same.

_So as long as Bucky had Steve, he had a home._

**Author's Note:**

> since most of the people in this fandom are familiar with Sebastian's work and his obsession with playing sad gays, I'm sure some of you guys recognized that the kissing scene follows the same outline as one of Sebastian/T.J. Hammond's more popular hookups.  
> I was watching that video, and drew inspiration :)  
> hope you guys enjoyed.


End file.
